


Entwined Silences

by agayprocella



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Character Study, Coming of Age, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Roommates, and they were ROOMMATES, death mention, extremely bitter genji shimada, genji needs to Chill TM, i dont know how this website works, its basically the canon but im kicking michael chu in the dick and taking matters in my own hands, look im just gay, many mentions of people sleeping and/or napping, mccree is gay and awkward, mccree needs some sleep, occasional lesbian activities, oh my god they were roommates, this is absolutely self indulgent sappy stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-28 13:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12607668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agayprocella/pseuds/agayprocella
Summary: Jesse McCree hates change, and whoever designed the big scheme of things doesn't seem to care. Yet somehow everything seems to fall in the right place in the end.(Or the one in which McCree just wants some rest and Genji is a terrible roommate.)





	1. 0 - Home

**Author's Note:**

> So... This is my first work on this website and I have no idea of how it will go, but I do know that I'm not good at updating on schedule so just keep that in mind in case you start wondering where the hell I've gone.  
> Enjoy the read!
> 
> (Also follow me on tumblr if you'd like, my url is autisticmccree)

It all ends on a Sunday morning.  
The smell of dust and iron lingers on his clothes as he lays face down and waits for the darkness to swallow him. He can hear muffled gunshots in the distance, he could count them to stay awake. He doesn’t.  
The smoke in the air corrodes his lungs and every breath he takes stings more than the last.  
A distinct voice echoes through the walls and deep in his bones, a choir of amens dances under his skin as his blood spills slowly all over the floor.  
His eyes are closed, yet he can see his mother smiling. He thinks of daisies and sunshine, the smell of chamomile and the sound of rain in the desert.  
His mother reaches for him, her calloused hands running through his hair soaked in blood and dirty with ash and dust. She whispers something and he thinks that’s probably what heaven sounds like.  
He asks for her to take him with her, he asks for it to be over.

_Have I been good enough? Can I stop now?_

Her sad smile widens and she kneels before him, her yellow sundress getting drenched in young blood again. There’s something bittersweet in the way her wounds don’t bleed, a grim reminder that she’s not there anymore.

  _You’re so good._

 There’s an explosion somewhere in the distance; he can hear the building crumbling down as its foundation fights gravity, refusing to collapse just yet. People run, he hears them and secretly wishes they’d all die in the fire. His body is too torn and his mind too strained to bear the burning anger and all that escapes him are lukewarm tears.

_But you have to go on._

 She fades away and he is left alone with his blood and regret as someone yanks him away from the collapsing floor.  
There’s a new cacophony of voices ringing in his ears.  
He hopes he’ll never hear anything again.

 

* * *

 

Hope flourishes in his seventeenth july.  
It comes to him in the form of six perfectly landed shots, six men falling to the ground without a sound while the wind blows through his hair.  
Hope leaves a sore ache in his right eye that lasts for a week and trash cans full of bloodied tissues.  
Hope is in the way Commander Reyes tells him to never do that again, in the way his voice sounds a lot like his dad’s when he sends him to the medbay and in the smile he gives him when he tells him he did well.  
It’s in all the new little things: how his brown skin almost seems to glow under the bright neon lights in the Watchpoint’s hallways, the sand he has to wash away from his hair after jogging on the beach as the sun sets before his eyes, the loud chatter in the canteen at noon, the stray cats in the cramped streets that follow him all the way back to Watchpoint hoping for food, the genuine laugh that escapes Captain Amari’s lips when he greets her for the first time, her words of wisdom that come to him crawling on the shooting range early in the morning, the childlike wonder in her daughter’s eyes as she watches him train from afar with Reyes and the coffee he brings him in the morning.  
There are times when he feels like he comes from another world. His doctor smiles as she condescendingly tells him he shouldn’t smoke at such a young age, but her blue eyes are as old as his and yet sinking deep in an ocean of tiredness and he can’t help but wonder how much blood she’s already seen.  
Commander Morrison holds his head up high as he walks side by side with him and Reyes. They both look uncomfortable, like they’re on different pages of the same book.  
Sleeping gets hard very fast. He’s not used to the quiet nights or the lonely bedroom. He watches the stars as they move slowly across the night sky only for them to disappear when the morning comes creeping in through the windows.  
Sometimes he hears the voices of his old friends in the next room.

_Where have you gone?_

 He lights himself a cigarette and thinks of the waves caressing the shore, hoping that the sound will muffle the cries at the back of his head.

  _How could you leave me behind?_

 He closes his eyes and prays quietly, touching his mother’s rosary that he keeps carefully wrapped around his wrist.

 He smiles shyly as the words slide out: “I hope Mary takes your voice away soon.”

 

* * *

 

His hands quickly get used to his new revolver, it becomes a familiar weight that he can hold on to. It’s a well manufactured piece of artillery that Reyes had specifically requested for him. His only complaint was about the spur, but he later shrugged it off seeing how happy Jesse seemed to be about it.  
Morrison rolls his eyes at him when he first tries it out on the shooting range, but he hides a sly smile as he watches him land all his shots. His eyes often wander to Reyes and Amari, when he speaks to them he always sounds distant.    
Jesse often asks about him but he’s always met with dry laughs and condescending looks. He has a feeling that there’s more to Jack Morrison than just his cold facade and patronizing tone, but something in the way Reyes looks at him with a mix of sadness and annoyance in his eyes tells him he doesn’t want to find out.  
Everything seems to be a jumble of new habits, his mind and body are still used to the Deadlock life, his finger still twitches on the trigger when things get loud. There’s a quiet hum always buzzing in the back of his brain, when he pays attention to it he could swear it almost sounds human, like someone whispering his name over and over again.

He tries to drown it out with the sounds of gunshots and the taste of smoke, but the more he tries to ignore it, the louder it grows, making him nervous and twitchy.  
The tension runs swiftly under his skin, sinking deep into his flesh and blood. He wonders how long he will last in this new warped reality. He wonders how long it will take to make everyone tired of him.  
Gibraltar’s nights feel wrong in a way that he can’t explain, maybe it’s the dead silence that comes with them, or the smell of sea and the fresh salty wind.  
When he closes his eyes he sees the sky of Santa Fe and the humming becomes so loud that it drives him crazy, it sounds like a gospel choir singing in another room, incomprehensible words mixing with the sounds of waves crashing on the shore in a peaceful rhythm.

 The months pass by in the blink of an eye and soon they become years. He thinks that he could have never predicted the way he got used to all of the new little things.  
The hum stays with him the entire time, accompanying him through his sleepless nights and restless days.  
His eyes get used to the neon lights, his feet to the sand he runs on every morning, his ears to the chattering in the hallways, his skin to his new clothes.  
He takes it all in, trying to make the most out of it, trying to find a new home in the place that took it away from him.  
It’s not easy, it takes so much time and sometimes it hurts in ways he didn’t even know it could.  
Sometimes he still hears his mother. She whispers sweet words that ease the pain for a while, she tends to the open wounds in his heart and watches over him, quiet and calm. When he feels her presence he always closes his eyes, he fears her sight more than anything, he fears the visions of blood and despair that she brings with her every time she visits him.  
He prays with his hands covering his eyes, the smoke of his cigarette staining his thoughts with numbness.

_Let this be worth it._

He hopes God is listening to him before thinking one last time that he would be better off dead under the debris of that damned building in the middle of the desert.

 

* * *

 

 

He realizes that he’s part of a new found family on his twentieth birthday.  
Captain Amari greets him with a warm hug on the shooting range, she smiles and puts a box wrapped in blue paper in his hands.  
Inside there’s a photograph of him and Fareeha in Damietta she took a couple of months earlier. It’s encased in a silver frame and when he sees it he feels something pulling at his insides.

He thinks of Fareeha, the way she treats him like he’s the older brother she’s never had, how she always runs up to him and pulls him in the tightest hugs whenever she visits Watchpoint, the faces she makes when he tells her a bad joke, the excitement in her voice when she tells him what she’s been doing for the past months, the admiration that’s in her eyes when she watches him training.  
Something moves inside him and he bites his lower lip in order to hold back tears.  
And it hurts, in some kind of way he can’t fully understand. It’s a sore spot in the middle of his chest that throbs like an open wound.  
He feels an overwhelming wave of warmth washing over him as Ana gently brushes his hair out of his face like only a mother would do, and he feels safer. He feels at home.


	2. 1 - Smoke

 

He knows he’s dreaming as he walks on the warm sand with his eyes fixed on the line where the sky melds with the sea.

The water looks flat and extremely still without any wind to create ripples and waves.

 The chilly air stings when he breathes in, and he can feel the electric breeze of an upcoming storm brushing against his skin. Still he walks towards the water, letting his feet sink into the sand while he hums a song he can’t quite remember the words to.

 As soon as he steps on the shore something behind his right eye explodes with a violent force and he falls on his knees, pressing his palms on his face in confusion and pain.

He hears a distant voice screaming what sounds like a plea for help but he can’t understand what it’s saying.

 

“I’m sorry!” he cries out in pain, tears welling up in his eyes as he watches his blood dripping slowly on the grey sand.

 

The world around him shifts into an eerily red reflection of itself where everything is fuzzy and out of focus.

 And ‘Bang!' goes the air in his ears, like it’s trying to shoot him down.

'Bang!', and the bullets hit the ground.

'Bang!', as the sharp pain in his eye throbs and grows like it’s alive.

'Bang!', and the air catches fire in a white blaze.

 

He finds himself curling up on himself with his face in the cold water, the salt burns inside his wound without showing any mercy.

 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t want to!” he sobs, thinking that maybe if he apologizes the world will stop falling apart, hoping that the voice he’s pleading to will understand that he never meant any harm. That he’s never wanted to see the light fade away from another man’s eyes.

 

But he can only feel his heart beating faster and faster as his breaths get heavier, and the distant sound of someone yelling his name keeps piercing through him like poisonous darts.

 

“I didn’t want to kill you!” he screams.

 

Then he doesn’t feel a single thing anymore.

 

 

*

 

 

He wakes up, still panting, and it takes him a while to notice his face is covered with a pillow, and even longer to realize someone is holding it over him.

 

“Get out of my room right now or I swear I’m gonna smother you to death.” Rings a familiar voice through the stuffed fabric.

 

Jesse groans and lazily jerks away from under the pillow only to flop down on the floor with his arms and legs strewn at random angles like an old ragdoll. His eyes are still getting used to the bright light so he can only see the faint outline of a young woman holding up what looks to be an heavy wrench, but he doesn't need crystal clear vision to know that he better recoil from the rough awakening and, at the very least, excuse himself.

 He feels the tip of a boot stabbing in his side and he starts to work his way off the floor while weakly protesting: “Alright, alright! I’m gettin’ up!”.

 

“Well get up faster you piece of shit.” She kicks him in the ribs again, her tone getting more and more irritated.

 

“For Christ’s sake Ginger, let me wake up.” He mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his side.

 

Ginger puts her hands on her hips and gives him an intimidating glare as she starts stomping her foot on the floor impatiently.

 

“We were supposed to leave _twenty_ minutes ago, McCree, twenty fucking minutes! This is the  _last_ time I let you stay over. You’re a grown man, this is absolutely ridiculous.” She protests, waving her wrench around like it weighs nothing. Her short, flaming red hair starts falling on her face as she gestures dramatically like she always does.

 

“It ain’t my fucking fault you didn’t wake me up.” Jesse yawns, slowly moving around the room in a drowsy state.

 

“So _I'm_ supposed to wake _you_ up? I will literally disintegrate you,” she replies bitterly, following him around and pointing a gloved finger on his back every now and then. “And go put some fucking pants on,  _stronzo_!”

 

Jesse stumbles around and almost trips on his own feet while trying to pick up his shirt, he starts putting it on but soon realizes it’s flipped inside out and grunts in frustration.

 

“By the way, Commander Reyes called you like eight times.” Adds Ginger, tossing her wrench into the heavy toolbox sitting in the middle of the bedroom.

 

Jesse nods slowly, his mind quickly running through the countless reasons why Gabriel would have bothered calling while knowing very well that his protégé was likely blackout drunk a thousand miles away from home.

 

“He said he needs to see you as soon as we get back to Gibraltar,” continues the young Blackwatch rookie while sorting out her tools methodically. “It sounded pretty serious.”

 

Jesse grunts in agreement, still struggling to put his clothes on. He’s trying to remember when the last time that Gabriel had to call him from overseas just to tell him he needed to  _talk_ to him was, and even in his drowsiness he knows that it’s never happened before, so he can’t help but shiver at the mere thought of whatever the news will be. He’s more than sure it won’t be good.

 

“Hey, Jesse,” calls out Ginger, quietly. He looks at her and raises an eyebrow at the sight of his travel bag in her hands. “Next time you’re late I’ll toss all your shit out of the window, understood?”

 

She throws him the bag at full speed and lands the shot right on Jesse’s face, who stumbles back against the wall and quietly curses his teammate.

 

“Yeah, aight, I know you fuckin’ love me.” He blabbers with an extremely confident tone for someone who’s been trying to put his pants on for over a minute.

 

Ginger rolls her eyes and crosses her tattooed arms on her chest as she watches him silently, her overstuffed backpack hanging loose from her shoulder and her toolbox under her left combat boot.

As much as she tries to hide it, she can’t help but smile a little as Jesse keeps staggering around the room looking for his shoes while whistling carelessly.

He makes sure to smile back at her when he finally finds his worn out sketchers under the makeshift cot he slept in, and feels a little relieved when she chuckles lightheartedly and picks up her toolbox with little to no effort.

Despite what many would think, he doesn’t like making Ginger upset, just like he doesn't like arguing with Fareeha or Gabriel. He simply doesn’t like to feel like he’s made his family disappointed in him, and although Ginger can be insufferable at times, she’s part of his family as well and he can’t help but treat her like a sister.

 

“I’m gonna head to the Orca now, if you’re not there in 15 minutes I’m gonna tell Ray to leave without you,”  she says, tossing him the room’s keycard. Jesse manages to catch it before it, too, hits him square in the face, and lets out a triumphant chuckle. “Also, I know we’re not exactly  _best friends_ but… You should really talk to someone about those nightmares.”

 

Jesse nods, suddenly tense, and mumbles something along the lines of ‘ _I'll see what i can do_ ’ without paying much attention to his own words.

He watches Ginger as she waves her hand and disappears into the hallway and, sitting silently on the cold floor, he thinks that his night terrors won’t stop after a chat with a good friend.

 

Repentance corrodes the hearts of regretful men faster than words will ever be able to heal them.

 

 

*

 

 

He manages to sleep for the entirety of the flight back to Gibraltar despite having chugged down three cups of black coffee in an attempt to fight his hangover, and only wakes up when Ray Sparks - the Orca’s pilot - starts shaking him with a bit too much verve to ignore.

 He’s still feeling dizzy and disoriented when he steps on base with his travel bag under his arm and an unlit cigarette between his lips, so much so that he almost starts following the same path he used during his stay in London to get back to his dorm room.

 His intercom immediately starts beeping as soon as he’s inside the dormitory and he can almost hear O’ Deorain’s nagging voice reminding him for the tenth time that he absolutely  _needs_ to get his blood tests done by the end of the month.

 He turns off the damn thing and throws it on his unmade bed, deciding that it’s the right time for a shower, something he hasn’t had in days.

 An hour passes by as he does little to nothing, laying on his bed with clean clothes on while he listens to the radio and waits for someone to come and remind him that he was supposed to meet with Gabriel as soon as the Orca landed.

In some way he knows that he’s just too scared to go face the commander and whatever he has to say without being forced to, but he lies to himself, thinking that if Gabriel Reyes himself doesn’t come to his room to forcefully drag him into his office the situation can’t be that urgent. Besides, he’s never really liked talking.

 So it’s only five minutes later that he gains the courage to get up and unwillingly walk himself to the other side of the base and search for the commander’s office for a good twenty minutes before finally knocking on the white reinforced door and let himself in like he always does.

 

When he walks into the room he barely even notices the new unfamiliar presence sitting in front of Gabriel.

The young man is curled up, his knees under his metallic chin, arms wrapped tightly around his cybernetic legs. He’s wearing a visor that covers up a little more than half his face, only his dark eyes are visible. His black hair is slicked back and held in place by part of the metal harness that he wears on his head.

He isn’t wearing any clothes as most of his body is either covered in thick armor or completely made up of cybernetic parts. The left half of his torso is covered in deep scars, and so is his arm, from which a pair of unsightly tubes sprout out only to dig into his flesh again at his wrist.

He doesn’t seem to take notice of the sound of the door closing, nor of Jesse walking towards the desk. His black eyes remain fixed on the floor, with a look that can only be described as that of someone who gave up on trying to keep himself together long ago.

 

“This is Genji.” says Gabriel, clean and concise. And there’s nothing else he needs to add.

 

Everyone on base knows about Genji Shimada, the young heir to the biggest crime empire in Japan, killed by his own brother and brought back by Overwatch. Everyone knows the things Doctor Ziegler has done to him. Everyone knows Overwatch isn’t really trying to save him, rather they are building just another weapon. But a weapon like that, born to a family of criminals, wasn’t what Overwatch needed for their facade, and so they passed him over to Blackwatch.

Jesse gives Gabriel a look of concern as he sits on the chair besides Genji’s, trying to keep it together.

 

“He’s going to be resigned from the medbay this afternoon,” the commander sighs and flips through the pages of a medical report, Jesse knows that Gabriel doesn’t really care about what Doctor Ziegler has to say about her patient, but he at least tries to fake it when he’s around other people. There is a long pause before Gabriel shuts the record with a resigned expression on his face. “Listen I know how you feel about sharing your room but I really don’t trust anyone with this kid and we don’t have any other empty rooms where I can let him sulk all day long. It’s not going to be for long, just until he’s… less fucked.”

 

Jesse takes a deep breath before sagging into his chair with a sigh of relief, gaining himself a perplexed look from his boss.

 

“Thought you were gonna ask me t’spar with him or somethin’...” He lies playfully through his teeth, still somewhat intimidated by the possibility of having his daily routine disrupted by the novelty of the situation.  

 

A muffled sound breaks the awkward silence, it takes Jesse a while to realize that what he’s hearing is Genji trying not to laugh. His eyes are now fixed on the window to his right, a glint of humor flashing in them for a split second.

Gabriel sighs and runs a hand down his shaven head, the shadow of a smile on his lips, before asking: “So you’re okay with this?” his voice turning softer like it always does when he’s talking to Jesse.

 

“As long as he doesn’t steal any of my shit we’re good.” Jesse answers, shrugging.

 

Gabriel nods absent-mindedly and shifts his gaze back to Genji, almost as if he’s waiting for him to say something while already knowing he won’t.

 Genji’s eyes dart around the room for a while before settling on Gabriel’s face.

 

“I don’t mind.” he whispers.

 

Jesse gets the feeling Genji doesn’t like talking either.

 

 

*

 

 

The first time they actually talk to each other is a few hours later, when the sun has long passed beyond the horizon and the only noise coming from the base is that of electricity whirring from inside the neon lights.

Jesse lays quietly on his bed, smoking a cigarette, as he listens to the muffled tune on an old song filtering through the speakers of the cheap radio on his nightstand.

He tries to let himself drift away and fall asleep, but the sudden noise of the bathroom’s door shutting violently startles him out of his drowsiness.

He hears the unmistakable sound of someone puking their guts out and instinctively covers his mouth in disgust.

Somewhere, deep inside his subconscious, he _knows_ that what he’s hearing is Genji feeling sick, but all he can think of as he tries to cancel out the noises coming from the room directly in front of his bed is that he would rather be bleeding to death in the middle of the desert.

 Just as he’s thinking of sneaking out and staying the night on Ginger’s bedroom floor, he can almost hear Gabriel telling him that he doesn’t trust anyone else enough to even let them near the young cyborg, and something twists in his stomach at the mere thought of letting his boss down like this.

 

“You okay in there?” he yells, still a little hesitant to leave the comfort of his bed and get mixed up in his new roommate’s business.

 

There’s an awkward, long pause filled with indecipherable mumbling and the sound of water rushing before the bathroom’s door opens to reveal the shaking silhouette of Genji curled up on the tiled floor, looking like he’s just put his faceplate back up in a rush.

 

“Does it sound like I'm doing  _okay_?” Genji hisses, his dark eyes seem to glow red in the dim light of the small room.

 

Jesse feels his face growing warmer as the young man furrows his brows waiting for him to reply.  

 

“Well,” he takes a good look at the cyborg, who’s clearly shaking and looks much paler than he did a few hours before. “Certainly doesn’t  _look_ like it.”

 

Genji gives a snort of disgust and rolls his eyes in annoyance before letting himself fall back on the wall with a metallic clack. His hands are clenched into fists as he turns away from Jesse, his eyes focusing on the floor.

 

“Shouldn’t you like… Call the doctor or somethin’? Or is this just your typical friday night?” Jesse asks, trying to hide his discomfort and embarrassment with a sly smirk.

 

“You would be surprised to find out this actually happens quite often,” replies Genji in a flat tone, almost carelessly. “I can deal with it.”

 

Jesse extinguishes his cigarette in the ceramic ashtray Fareeha brought back from her trip to Istanbul when she was eighteen and walks over to Genji, making sure not to get too close out of respect and, though he doesn’t want admit it, a tinge of fear.

 He leans against the wall opposite to the one his roommate is resting his head on and observes him quietly for a couple of seconds.

 

“Does it hurt?” He asks, worried.

 

Genji nods, if only slightly, and clutches his side as he whispers: “Only a little.”.

 

Jesse hums to himself, thinking of something to say, but finding that, no matter how hard he tries, he’s just not good at keeping a conversation going.

 

So they stay still in the dead silence of the night, exchanging brief stares now and then, for what seems like an eternity.

Eventually Genji lets out a silent whimper and clutches harder at his side, as Jesse wanders around the room praying to Jesus, Mary and all the saints in heaven that his roommate won’t start throwing up again.

At a certain point he even gives in and goes back to his bed, letting the sounds of Genji’s heavy breaths lull him to sleep.

When he wakes up a few hours later, as the sun is still making its way through the cloudy horizon, Genji is already gone.

He lights himself a cigarette, still upset he didn’t get to finish his last one, and stares out of the window smoking his nightmares away.

 

A drop ship soars through the summer’s sky as he whispers to himself: “This is going to be one hell of a ride.”

 

 

*

 

 

To his dismay, nights become restless again, and the air gets heavy and filled up with static right from the start.

It’s a multitude of little things that are too foreign for him to ignore.

His room feels all but comfortable with Genji’s constant presence looming over him like a ghost.

 

He thinks it would be bearable if they just had any sort of interaction whatsoever, but Genji seems to be in a constant state of lethargy, always sitting on his bed staring out of the window or reading something off the holovid Gabriel gave him.

He barely ever speaks, and when he does it’s always in short and abrupt sentences. When he gets back from the training range or from the medbay, he lazily takes off the pieces of armor he usually wears and carefully places them at the end of his bed, then whispers a cold greeting and goes back to his complete stillness. Yet he never takes his faceplate off.

Sometimes Jesse catches him staring, late at night, when he gets up to smoke. His eyes glow a faint red in the dark, when Jesse stares back he doesn’t move his gaze.

 

“Do I have something on my face?” He asks, on a hazy August night.

 

The smoke he lets out of his mouth rises to the ceiling and rests there. The air is hot and still and Jesse is sweating much more that he would like to admit.

 Genji’s eyes widen for a split second but he still doesn’t look away, as he tries to conceal his embarrassment with faux confidence.  

 

“I apologize.” He says, voice as flat and metallic as ever.

 

Jesse raises a corner of his mouth and lets out a choked laugh, trying to find a way to keep his roommate talking. Awkward small talk is always better than awkward stares.

There are so many things he could say but they all feel so meaningless and dull, nothing in comparison to what probably troubles his silent roommate.

 

His thoughts are interrupted by Genji speaking again, this time louder: “You smoke a lot.”

 

Jesse snorts and takes a long drag from his cigarette, suddenly a little less tense. Genji raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to reply, something that looks like impatience glinting in his eyes.

 

“Yeah, I reckon so. Y’want me to go outside?” He can’t help but chuckle lightly as he speaks, as he’s somewhat happy about Genji talking to him, even if it’s just a complaint.

 

The room falls silent for a while, only the constant hum in his head and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore to keep him company.

 

“No, stay here.” mutters Genji, curling up on himself like he always does. His words linger in the stale air for a long time, making Jesse lose his train of thought.

 

He searches desperately for something to say but surrenders easily, being caught off guard.

 

“Yeah sure, uh… Do you want to…?” He awkwardly gestures to the pack of cigarettes on the windowsill.

 

Genji’s eyes slightly widen with surprise, he makes a quiet sound of disapproval and tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling.

Jesse watches him cautiously, toying with his lighter to distract himself and his breath gets caught up in his throat when he sees him walking towards the window he’s currently leaning on.

He carefully watches as Genji messes with the metal locks that hold his faceplate in place, his fingers shake a little, making the process even slower.

 

There is no amount of air that would keep Jesse from stopping to breathe altogether when he fully processes what’s in front of him. He feels his cheeks warming up as he takes in every single detail that his eyes can capture.

 

Genji’s face isn’t covered by the same amount of scars that carve deeply the rest of his body. Though there are clear signs of a fight, multiple large cuts across his nose and cheekbones that look almost fake because of their deep purple shades.

His chin and jaw are prosthetic, black synthetic pieces that hold his face together, even his lower lip is fake.

Still, he’s the most beautiful thing Jesse’s ever seen.

 The moonlight touches his sharp features making him look like he belongs in an old painting. His lashes cover his eyes as he looks down, his hair starts to fall messily on his face and he runs his hand through it slowly.

He looks uncomfortable, almost embarrassed, with his head down and his shoulders stiff.

 

Jesse slides the packet over to him without saying a word, as he’s absolutely speechless. Genji’s hands clutch tightly around the cardboard and he frantically takes a cigarette, still shaking slightly.

 

“Thank you.” he mumbles as Jesse hands him the lighter.  

 

They stay quiet for a couple of minutes, staring out into the night. Their elbows are touching yet it feels like they are miles apart.

When he looks back at Genji he sees him laughing under his breath, tears forming at the corners of his eyes as he lets out a cloud of smoke.

 

There’s no need to do the math, Jesse knows Genji has been locked up in Ziegler’s lab for at least over four months. He knows he hasn’t been able to do any of the mundane things he used to do before everything that led him to Blackwatch, at least up until now.

He feels his heart sinking in his chest when he realizes that he’s the only one capable of understanding what he’s going through.

Maybe he doesn’t know what it feels like to die be brought back to life, rebuilt from the inside out until you can’t find yourself anymore, but he does knows what being taken away from home is like. He knows how it feels to be alone amongst the people that took everything away from you.

And he knows what it feels like to smoke again for the first time after months.

He covers his face with his hands and sighs deeply, if out of sadness or frustration he doesn’t really know.

 

“It’ll get better,” he whispers, and his voice sounds distant and shaky, so much so that he clears his throat before speaking again. He sees Genji looking at him with an incredibly somber expression on his face.

 

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so, first of all, I have absolutely no idea of how I managed to write 4k words in such a short period of time, so don't get used to this.  
> Second, thanks to everyone who left me kudos and commented on the prologue, you have no idea of how much this means to me seeing as this is literally my first work in english and I'm extremely self conscious about my writing.  
> Also, just to clear some stuff up: Orca is the name of the ship you spawn in at Lijang Tower, Nepal and Ilios, "Stronzo" is italian for asshole and Ginger is just an OC I had sitting around and didn't know what to do with so I just put her in here for future blackwatch banter.


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